Plots Within Plans
by AngelCeleste85
Summary: Carlotta has it in for Christine. Erik turns to his own greatest rival for help in ousting the diva when she tries to eliminate Christine. Just one problem, of course - it's Raoul.
1. The Machinations Begin

Disclaimers: If I owned the Phantom of the Opera I'd have better things to do with his time and mine than write these stories, take that however you will but understand I'm not making money off of this!  
  
Setting: The morning after the "Notes I" scene from ALW. However, the opera in question is "Faust" and not "Il Muto," as per Leroux's novel.  
  
Other Notes: Thank you to the dark_passion rpg at Yahoo! for the inspiration behind this. I play the role of Carlotta there and I know firsthand how she can be very firmly set in her place (thank you to Taylor, aka Mademoiselle Firmin, for that insight). I also know something of how her mind would work, if she found herself fighting to keep the title of leading lady anywhere. She won't fight fairly.  
  
I rarely bash a character too harshly! I know how beloved Carlotta is (almost as much as Raoul) and yes, she's a screaming bitch (in more ways than one). But... that's her way. I won't bash her, I rather like her too much for that, and I will not bash Raoul, either!  
  
Pardon the 'eavy accent on Carlotta's speech: if you listen to her speaking parts in ALW, she rarely pronounces her H's unless they're blended with another letter (like S) to make a new sound (Sh-).  
  
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Plots Within Plans by AngelCeleste85  
  
Chapter One - The Machinations Begin  
  
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"I will not 'ave it!" The strongly accented soprano voice echoed down the corridor from its source: the managers' office. More precisely, from the irate woman who took up a fair portion of the room on her own. She stood, arms akimbo, facing down the two men who gave the impression of cornered rats. And as well they might when the angry woman between them and the only exit was Carlotta Giudecelli. "I will not 'ave it, do you understand?"  
  
"Signora," the weaselly Firmin said, "Mademoiselle Daae is a very good singer. She is not anywhere near your level, of course, but -"  
  
"But you t'ink she can replace me, that is so?" Carlotta usually kept her heavy Italian accent out of her speech, but when she was thoroughly angered it slipped. Unfortunately, it was one of those sure signs that she was indeed furious and nobody wanted to face this woman angry. "'Daae' this and 'Christine' that, from stage'and to rats to t'e bloody chorus! I am tired of 'earing t'at little toad's name everywhere!" Swearing was another sign that she was in one of her infamous towering rages.  
  
So the job of placating her, of course, fell squarely on the shoulders of the men who had set off her fierce temper with the morning's announcement. The two unfortunates, whom anyone might have been forgiven for thinking them two stagehands caught by an angry manageress, exchanged a patient glance with one another.  
  
"Signora," the taller one said gently, fighting the urge to dry-wash his hands, "Mademoiselle Daae could never replace you. You will remain our star for as long as you wish to sing for us. We would just like to have a capable understudy on call for you."  
  
Carlotta's face darkened from its present florid state to nearly purple in her rage. It was the worst-kept secret in Paris that Carlotta and Christine more than strongly disliked each other with a passion: indeed, Andre and Firmin both planned to play that fact to maximum advantage when it came time to advertise this production of "Faust." Carlotta would play the role of Marguerite, they had announced only this morning, and Christine Daae would take the role of Siebel. At the same time, they also officially appointed her Carlotta's understudy in tones considerably louder than necessary for the rehearsal room.  
  
That was the announcement that, two hours later, had them facing an irate diva whose girth was every bit as formidable as the temper that was a hairsbreadth from exploding onto them.  
  
Their decree had been spurred by the receipt by the managers of a note from their mysterious "Opera Ghost," instructing them in no uncertain terms that Christine Daae should have the lead female role for this work and that Carlotta should be relegated to the chorus: an unprecedented and, in the eyes of the managers, ridiculous order. They scoffed at the ghost's threat of "a disaster beyond their imagination" and went ahead with their plans.  
  
Still, they were unwilling to openly anger this "Opera Ghost," whom they half-believed in as former stagehands themselves and half-discounted as a potentially dangerous lunatic lurking somewhere within the Opera House. Whoever he was, whatever he was, he seemed to know all the decisions reached privately by Firmin and Andre long before they became public knowledge. So Christine was given a unique role in that it was a secondary but crucial male character written for a secondary soprano, and as a sop she was also given the job of understudy for their leading lady.  
  
Still, Firmin mused behind his dark eyes, it would have helped things greatly if the note had not been delivered by old Isabelle Giry in the presence of the lady who felt keenly the insult intended in the note. But he had had enough of the tyrannical diva's harangues, delivered in a tone that made his blood boil and at a volume that probably reverberated throughout the fifth cellar, if not the Opera House of Rome! It was time for himself and Andre to take back the control of this situation.  
  
"Signora," the shorter man said, striving hard to add every inch he could to his stature. He very much envied Andre's extra inches here that made him able to look down at the woman and for the umpteenth time made a mental note in the back of his mind to look into purchasing boots. "If you do not moderate your tone, we will cancel your contract, Christine will sing Marguerite's role and you will not sing at all, here or anywhere else."  
  
Andre's face went white at the bluff: he knew as well as Firmin did that they could not afford to lose Carlotta right now - no matter how good the Daae girl had the potential to be, she was not good enough to replace Carlotta Giudecelli yet! - but he held his ground. Firmin moved to stand at his partner's shoulder and folded his arms over his chest. After a moment, the other manager followed suit and they stood as a solid wall before this bull of a woman.  
  
A bull who, for the moment, seemed cowed. There would be all sorts of minor hells to pay later, both of the men could read it in her eyes. A diva had considerable influence over an Opera House and this one more than most given the force of her personality and than sledgehammer manner in which she employed it for her own ends. She would bear careful watching, Andre noted in the back of his mind as he watched the wheels turn, the gears grind and the sparks fly behind Giudecelli's sloe-dark eyes.  
  
But when Carlotta spoke again, she seemed almost contrite. Almost. The diva knew as well as they that she was indispensable to them, and neither man trusted this sudden change at all. It only meant that she was trying a different manipulation, and that her rage was not gone, merely submerged to plague them in a myriad of little ways in the future. Scant milliseconds later, she confirmed their twin suspicions.  
  
"So, you are willing to bluff, no? To me?" Shockingly, Carlotta laughed and seated herself in one of the plush chairs facing Firmin's desk. The symbolism was all too clear: whether it was Andre or Firmin who wielded the pen, all contracts began and ended on that slab of oak. "If I chose to leave right now, you could not find another diva to replace me 'oo could draw 'alf the audience I do, not wit'in four years and by t'en, you would both be out of jobs also. Am I not correct?"  
  
Firmin could not hide his displeasure at the woman's candid and all-too- accurate assessment of their position. Her Italian still came through strongly: she was still angry, but perhaps a compromise could be reached that would cool her temper. He shot Andre a glance that said "Let me handle this," and seated himself across from Carlotta behind the his own desk. Andre knew talent and could dicker a contract if needed, but both of them knew that Richard Firmin could haggle the Devil's own soul out of him and win the bargain. Though it was rare that anyone ever had him by the balls as handily as Carlotta did just then.  
  
"This 'Opera Ghost' favors the Daae girl," Carlotta continued. "I am of the opinion that 'e is none other than your precious patron, pulling your strings for 'is sweet'eart. 'Ooever 'e is, t'e fact remains t'at your jobs 'inge on my remaining the reigning diva in Paris. She may sing t'e role of Siebel if you wish. But - agree right now, in my contract, t'at under no circumstances am I to be fired or play anyt'ing less t'an the lead soprano role as long as I sing 'ere, announce openly t'at any attempt to manipulate the brat into any role t'at is mine by contract will only 'arm 'er, and you may well flush this 'Opera Ghost' into the open. I will even 'elp you," she concluded, gesturing with one heavily beringed hand.  
  
Firmin was beyond stunned. He could only stare at Andre in stupefaction at the woman's terms. Stuck with Carlotta Giudecelli by a contract that could not be broken unless she chose to break it, for an indeterminate length of time, in exchange for the vague promise that they might thus draw out their troublesome O.G. into the open and an even sketchier promise that they would keep their government-appointed jobs through her... what a beastly choice, Firmin raged. She had them both by the balls, indeed! Playing nothing but lead roles for the next ten years, she didn't need to ask for a greater salary - she had it already!  
  
Looking to Andre was no help, either. If Firmin was speechless, Andre was shocked almost to heart failure.  
  
Slowly Firmin reached into his desk and pulled out the file for the diva before him and reached for several new sheets of paper. For a few minutes, only the sound of his quill pen on the paper was to be heard in the room. Silently, grudgingly, he applauded the woman for a well-timed strike that secured her position for years now even as he wrote the words that guaranteed her terms in black and white. Never before had he been so smoothly and deftly manipulated into a position he was incapable of defending.  
  
An hour later, the tyrant and undisputed queen of the Opera Garnier left, her copy of the new contract in hand, triumph open on her face.  
  
"I thought you said you could haggle the Devil's own soul out of his grasp!" Andre hissed in his ear as soon as the door latched behind the diva.  
  
"I never said I could dicker with the Devil's wife!" the weasel-faced manager shot back weakly.  
  
"Yes, well..." Andre sighed and sagged back in his own desk chair. "Either way, something tells me these next few years are going to be unmitigated hell."  
  
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Please tell me what you think - should I continue with this? ::loves, wants and greatly desires feedback!::  
  
AngelCeleste85 


	2. Warnings

Disclaimer: As always, if I owned him I'd have better things to do with all our time.  
  
A/N:  
  
** Raoul's thoughts **  
  
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"Plots Within Plans" by AngelCeleste85  
  
Chapter Two - Warnings  
  
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The room was not really much more than a deserted storage room with a small cot on the right side and a writing desk against the left-hand wall: the desk had an oval mirror in a crude wooden frame nailed to the wall above it. Beneath the mirror was an inkwell and a left-wing quill pen - she was right-handed and could not afford the luxury of a right-wing feather, which meant that she had to live with a pen that pointed straight into her eyes any time she tried to write.  
  
To the left of the inkwell was a tall, slender vase of cheap glass. It held nothing at the moment. Beyond that, against the wall, were the cosmetics that so much of her salary went to so that she could perform on stage.  
  
Maybe soon she could afford that right-wing quill, as Carlotta's understudy. Of course, it meant she had to deal directly with the odious woman daily rather than every once in a while...  
  
She felt the presence through the mirror behind her a moment before he heard him and straightened, puzzled. Surely it was not time for a lesson!  
  
"Christine," the disembodied tenor whispered.  
  
The singer turned and faced the mirror. "Erik," she returned quietly, trying not to picture the ruin of his face.  
  
"Christine, be careful," he said softly. "You did too well at rehearsal yesterday."  
  
"Too well?"  
  
"This place is dangerous for you now. You are aware of Carlotta's new contract, are you not?"  
  
A person's contract was supposed to be confidential, but the rumor had of course spread nearly overnight that Carlotta Giudecelli had somehow contrived to force a lifetime contract with the managers. In the week since, neither Andre nor Firmin had denied it, and Carlotta only smiled with that insufferable smugness of hers whenever the topic of contracts came up.  
  
"I had heard the rumors," she said carefully. It was so much easier to think when she could not see him.  
  
"They are true," Erik confirmed. "But that is no comfort to a woman like her, when she sees a potential rival. When she sees someone to whom she will always be held in comparison and might, in time, be found wanting in that comparison - A woman like her can be dangerous. Carlotta has nothing to lose now. Be careful, mon ange."  
  
And as quickly as that, his presence faded.  
  
~@~  
  
Raoul was in the flower market purchasing a bouquet for Christine when he felt a tugging on his sleeve. Instantly he whirled, dropping the flowers back on the table before the surprised merchant: from his feet there came a startled cry of pain.  
  
Lying on his back on the dirty cobblestones was an equally dirty boy dressed in near-rags that hung on a too-skinny frame. Under the filth, he might have been about nine, but it was difficult to tell.  
  
Raoul bit back the snarl he would have unleashed on an older thief. "What are you trying to do, boy, pick my pocket?"  
  
Instead of answering the question, the urchin stammered out, "M-Monsieur le Vicomte?"  
  
How had the little rat known who he was, the noble wondered. It was obvious he was well-off by his clothing, but he wore no distinguishing jewelry and the carriage did not bear the de Chagny crest. He doubted this filthy boy would have been able to read the sigil anyway, but it was not there to be read. He nodded impatiently. "Yes, boy." Immediately the boy handed him a note.  
  
It was written in red ink on white parchment. The hand behind it was obviously educated, though some of the letters were formed in a strange manner: the writing was smooth and flowing copperplate. It was the same writing that had been on the two letters addressed to the managers a week ago, and on the letters to him and to Carlotta as well. This note read:  
  
"Monsieur, I do not believe I need tell you who I am. If you care for her life, you will meet me on the rooftop beneath the lyre immediately following tomorrow night's rehearsal, alone. I play no games with you now. You will not be harmed, but you may have a chance to prevent harm from coming to her."  
  
There was no signature this time.  
  
"He said you'd give me the other half when I delivered it," the boy broke in sullenly.  
  
Other half? Other half of - of course. The boy had accepted half of a fee as a courier. Raoul pulled out a few francs and pushed it into his hand. "As much again if you can tell me who gave this to you."  
  
The boy pointed up the street in a direction that would with a few corners turned bring one to the Opera House, and the nobleman looked up just in time to see the flash of a black cloak disappearing around the corner.  
  
** So, my clever friend. You think to play your games with me directly this time? **  
  
He pushed another handful of banknotes into the boy's hand. "Get yourself something to eat and some decent clothes, he muttered absently, re-reading the note.  
  
** "You will not be harmed, but you may have a chance to prevent harm from coming to her." Very well, clever friend. I will play this game, if Christine is in danger. But I will play it according to my own rules. **  
  
Raoul picked up the flowers for Christine and headed back to the carriage.  
  
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Feedback?  
  
AC 


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